“This is Detective Ballard, LAPD, I need an ambulance to four-three-four-three Finley right away. Have a man here who can’t breathe.”
Bonner started making gagging sounds and his face was now more purple than red.
“Hold while I put it out,” the emergency dispatcher said.
Ballard was put on hold. She reached down and tried to put her hand under Bonner’s chin to see if she could feel where the blockage was. He pushed her hand away instinctively.
“Stop fighting,” she said. “I’m trying to help.”
As if responding to her but more likely due to the lack of oxygen going to his brain, Bonner’s hands fell away from his neck and dropped to the floor. There was a dry scraping sound coming from his open mouth. His eyes were open, staring up at her, and he was dying.
The dispatcher came back on the phone.
“Okay, we are en route.”
“What’s the ETA?”
“Four minutes.”
“He’s not going to make that. He’s coding right now.”
“Can you open his passageway?”
“It’s crushed.”
Ballard blurted out her apartment number and the code to the main entrance gate, then disconnected. She quickly pulled up her contact list and called Garrett Single. He answered immediately.
“Renée, how’s the noggin?”
“Garrett, listen to me. I need you to talk me through a field trach.”
“Wait, what are you — ”
“Listen, there’s no time. I have a man here, he can’t breathe. His upper throat is blocked. I have EMTs coming but he won’t make it that long. Talk me through a field tracheotomy. Now.”
“This is a gag, right?”
“Goddammit, no! I need you to tell me what to do. Now!”
“Okay, okay, uh, where exactly is the block?”
“Upper throat. He’s over a minute without air. He’s circling.”
“Above or below the Adam’s apple?”
“Above.”
“Okay, good. Put something under his neck so it’s clear and arched, jaw pointing up.”
Ballard put the phone on speaker, then placed it on the floor. She reached under the bed and blindly grabbed a shoe — a running shoe. She reached down with one hand to raise Bonner’s neck, then shoved the shoe in like a wedge.
“Okay, got it. What’s next?”
“Okay, this is important — you have to find the spot.”
“What spot?”
“Use your finger and trace along the front of the neck. You are looking for a spot between the rings. The Adam’s apple is the big ring. Go below it and find the next ring.”
Ballard did as instructed and found the second ring.
“Got it, got it.”
“Okay, you want the soft spot between the rings — do you have a knife? You need a scalpel or a knife to make a small incision.”
Ballard reached up to the bed table and pulled the drawer out completely. It dropped to the floor over Bonner’s head. She scrambled her hand through the junk she had thrown in there after moving in — all stuff she’d planned to find a spot for later. She found the small Blackie Collins folding knife she had carried when she was in uniform. She depressed the lock and opened the blade.
“Okay, got it. Where do I cut?”
“Okay, the soft spot you found between the rings. The soft tissue. You need to make an incision there. But first, you’re sure he’s not breathing? You don’t want to do this if — ”
“He’s purple, Garrett. Just tell me what to do.”
“Okay, a small incision — like a quarter of an inch wide in the soft tissue between the cartilage. Horizontal and not too deep. You don’t want to go through the windpipe. No more than half an inch.”
Ballard carefully positioned the point of the blade and pushed it into the skin. Immediately blood came out and ran down both sides of Bonner’s neck to the wood floor. But it wasn’t much and Ballard took that as a sign that Bonner’s heart was shutting down.
“Okay, I’m there.”
“Okay, you need to put in the tube so that air — ”
“Shit, what tube? I didn’t think — ”
Ballard reached over and swiped her free hand through the junk drawer while carefully holding the knife in place in Bonner’s neck. She saw nothing that would work.
“Do you have a plastic straw or a pen or anything that you could — ”
“No! I don’t have shit! God — ”